Harry Potter and the Blonde Boy
by cyborg-lunar-princess
Summary: In this story, we see different sides to Harry and Draco than we got to see in the books.


Chapter 1-Draco

I was standing in Madam Malkins' shop when I saw the boy for the first time. He was hard to miss, amid the boring black robes and bland ties hanging on various racks around the shop. This boy wasn't wearing Wizards' robes, but a ratty old flannel shirt that had holes in both of the elbows and jeans that looked at least three sizes too big. His hair was jet-black and curly to the point where it appeared messy. He didn't have anyone with him, no parents or grandparents.

"Put your arms up, dear," said the old witch who was fitting me for robes. I held my arms to the side like a bird preparing for takeoff. Madam Malkin made a measurement, then adjusted the robes to fit.

"Hogwarts, dear?" Madam Malkin asked, a pin between her teeth. The boy put his hands in his jean pockets and nodded. "Got the lot here-another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." She gestured to me, and I looked over my shoulder to sneak another glance at the boy. I had to keep my jaw from dropping.

The boy had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. It was as if he had two emeralds in place of his eyeballs.

Madam Malkin rushed to pull a second stool in front of the mirrors, beside me. She headed into the back room to grab material for the boy, I assume. He looked uncomfortable, standing on the stool with knobby knees and glasses that were taped together in the center. I didn't know why, but I _had_ to say something.

"Hogwarts, too?" I asked awkwardly.

"Yes," the boy said. Strangely, his eyes seemed to light up at the mention of Hogwarts.

"My father's next door buying my books, and my mother's up the street looking at wands," I mentioned, since I had no other ideas for small talk. "Then I'm going to drag them across the street to look at racing brooms." The boy didn't laugh. "I mean, I don't see why first years can't have their own," I tried, using one of my dad's tips for conversations: politics. Since I didn't know much about real politics, this was my best bet.

When the boy didn't respond, I asked, "Have you got your own broom?"

"No."

"Do you play Quidditch?" I tried again.

"No."

"Um...know what house you'll be in yet?" I was beginning to lose hope.

"No," the boy said, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. I was suddenly afraid that I was embarrassing him.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin, all of my family has been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" I joked. At least, I thought it was a joke, but the boy wasn't laughing.

"Mmm," was all he said. He wasn't making eye contact, which was a bit of a letdown, because a small part of me wanted an excuse to look into those green eyes again.

I began looking furiously around the shop for something to talk about. Unfortunately, there wasn't much that was exciting enough to talk about if you weren't into pink fluffy dress robes. Lucky for me, I saw a giant of a man standing right outside the store window. He was at least twice as tall as the average man, and had scruffy brown hair and a beard. "I say, look at that man!" I pointed. He was certainly worth mentioning. Maybe the boy and I could talk about him more, since it wasn't exactly hard to come up with ideas about.

"That's Hagrid," the boy said, his eyes lighting up. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," I said. "I've heard of him." The truth was, I hadn't. I had no idea who the man was, but my father had told me about all of the teachers, and I definitely didn't remember a "Hagrid". "He's some sort of...servant?" I guessed, hoping I was right.

"He's the gamekeeper," the boy said. I figured, time to make another joke. I hadn't seen the boy smile yet, and maybe it was just my imagination, but I figured he'd have a nice smile.

"Yes, exactly," I lied. "I heard he's some sort of savage-lives in a hut on school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed." I let out a laugh to make sure the boy knew I was joking, but instead of laughing with me, his face grew even harder.

"I think he's brilliant," he said defensively.

"Do you?" I was beginning to sweat. "Um...is he with you? Where are your parents?" It was a risky question, but I was running out of options.

"They're dead," said the boy. By the way he said it, I figured he was used to saying it around people. His parents had probably been dead for a long time.

"Oh...sorry." I really wished the boy hadn't said that; I was terrible at helping people in these situations. The boy probably thought I was rude for not saying more, but I really didn't have more to say. "Were they...um…" How to word this? "Our kind?"

"The were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean," the boy said as Madam Malkin rushed back and lifted his arms as if he were a bird ready to take flight.

 _Guess we're back to politics again_ , I thought. It would be a risk, but-

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine! I think it would be less complicated to keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before the boy could answer, Madam Malkin handed him a bag of robes and sent him on his way.

"See you at Hogwarts, then," I called after him, slightly dejected but still hopeful.

As Madam Malkin continued to fit me for my robes, I went over everything I had said to the boy and cringed. A lot of it, I could see now, may have been taken as offensive. But I couldn't help myself. Since the moment I saw him, I wanted to talk to him...and I didn't have that feeling often. Not since-

 _No_ , I told myself. _Don't remember that_. I let myself be distracted by picturing the boy's face in my head-ruffled hair, sparkling eyes, even his glasses were interesting.

God, I just hoped he was in Slytherin.


End file.
